


before the dawn

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Set during MTMTE 15 & 16] Ratchet gets a visitor late in the evening after Overlord's rampage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I have been poking at this thing forever, I hope everyone enjoys. x_x

Ratchet had made a long, hard career out of this: long, anxious hours welding poor sparks back together, losing more than he wanted to, but never ceasing until it was done. But somehow, this was different. Overlord  on the _Lost Light_ was… a violation. Not only because somebots on board had to be responsible, but because somehow, the _Lost Light_ had shifted from “a shipful of damn fool mechs” to home. And having a monster invade something sacred as home…

 

Ratchet grit his jaw and set aside the tools he’d been cleaning and sorting. He’d long since dismissed First Aid and Ambulon, insisting that they too get some rest. Ratchet stayed, as always. Finding things to do while he stared at the numbers displayed on the death clock focused on Ultra Magnus. There was nothing he could do there. Drift he’d rushed out after reconstructing and reattaching his legs, because he’d gotten sick of hearing all the mystical scrap… especially while they were among the dead and dying.

 

Especially when Magnus was in the latter category.

 

Drift had been eager to leave by that point. Something about the inquiry. Fine by Ratchet. All it left him to do was drink and clean equipment and watch the monitor tell him how much Magnus’s spark was shrinking. But at least now he didn’t have to hear about how that particular tool of his was an offense to Primus or whatever.

 

Movement startled him out of dark and darker thoughts and he almost groaned at the sight of Drift. He was looking much better with his legs attached again -- repainted and polished so that the only thing to give away the recent replacement was the way he moved; his weight was placed more gingerly than his normal, gliding steps which produced just as little sound. It spoke of lingering pain.

 

Ratchet stood. “Come on, then,” he said. At least it was something to do.

 

A frown creased Drift’s smooth faceplates, but he moved forward -- only to pause again as Ratchet began flicking on monitors by a medical berth. “Ratchet--”

 

“Legs?” he grunted -- it was barely a question.

 

“No. I mean -- yes, they’re sore, but that’s not why I’m here.”

 

Ratchet squinted at him. “But you _are_ here, so you might as well come on.”

 

Drift hesitated a moment longer before sighing and pulling himself up onto the berth. Ratchet began running diagnostics and checking the hipjoints with quick and professional touches. Drift sat still, patient and quiet -- all unusual for him, despite the “inner peace” he sought through meditation.

 

“So why are you here?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Ratchet frowned up at him, but it only took a moment for Drift to snap back at it. “Ah, right…”

 

There was no need for Ratchet to follow his wandering gaze to know that Drift was staring at the death clock still shining on Magnus. Though there was something other than worry in his gaze -- Ratchet might’ve assumed “righteous disapproval” but that didn’t seem to be it, either. “Your scans are showing up normal, kid. You got something else to do or say here, you better get to it.”

 

Drift’s gaze flicked back to him quickly at that, and he seemed to lose words. Just as Ratchet was about to chase him off, Drift lifted a hand to Ratchet’s shoulder and tugged him close, and before the medic knew it, he was being kissed. It was warm and soft and quite enticing, with one of Drift’s legs hooking around his hip, and --

 

No. Ratchet couldn’t. He grasped Drift’s shoulders and gently pushed him back. “Drift--”

 

“Ratchet,” he said, voice a desperate whine.

 

The medic’s frown deepened. “Kid, what’s gotten into you?” He’d known of Drift’s… infatuation, but he doubted of it’s authenticity. Oh, he was sure Drift had some feelings regarding him, but the kid got so caught up in hero worship that he wondered if Drift could properly separate that from romantic notions, and Ratchet would not take advantage of that. “Look,” Ratchet said. “You flatter an old mech, but this…”

 

“What?” There it was: the sullenness, the pouting that he’d first known of Drift. Ratchet sighed.

 

“Saving your life -- everyone’s lives -- it’s my job. You don’t need to… I mean--”

 

Drift put a hand to his lips and Ratchet was stunned enough that he quieted. “That’s not what this is about.”

 

Ratchet frowned and pushed his hand away. “Then what is it about?”

 

Drift hummed, leaning dangerously close to his face again. Embarrassingly, his intakes stalled, but Drift made no indication that he’d noticed. “Last chances,” he said quietly.

 

...That made even less sense. “Drift, what--”

 

“All will be clear soon enough,” Drift said, and Ratchet wanted to shake him apart for how magnanimous he sounded. “Please,” he continued, cutting off Ratchet’s next words. “Indulge me? Just once. Just a kiss?”

 

Ratchet knew he must have painted a very dour, suspicious picture, but… there was something sad and clinging about Drift’s EM field (he normally did a good job of keeping it under wraps, but Ratchet was good at picking certain things out), and it loosened something in him, finally. “Alright, kid, but!” He raised a warning finger, which Drift stared at with rounded blue optics. “I better know what this is all about. Soon.”

 

Drift smiled, and for a clear moment Ratchet almost had that other emotion pinned down -- but then it was gone. “You will,” he promised, and tugged him forward. And now that Ratchet had relented, Drift was much harder to resist. If anyone were to walk in here and find him making out with Drift like they were a pair of younglings, in the grim situation they were in, he’d be embarrassed -- but right here and now? It was exhilarating. Ratchet hadn’t felt so young in vorns!

 

And that, as he soon found out, led him to be more indulgent with Drift than he’d intended.

 

When he awoke the next morning, Ratchet found… everything as it was. Drift had cleaned the berth, and himself, and… he was gone. Ironic. He would’ve thought Drift of all mechs would’ve been the “stay and cuddle” type.

 

Ratchet grunted as he sat up, feeling gears grinding and cables straining -- didn’t feel so young now, after the fact. His gaze automatically tracked to the death clock, and suddenly -- clarity.

 

What he’d sensed in Drift hadn’t been mere grief over the day’s horrific events -- oh that was there, but there had been something else.

 

Guilt.

 

And when he heard Rodimus over the ship’s intercom, he moved to the shuttlebay like a much younger mech indeed.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I realize this isn't the most original of ideas but it stuck in my head months ago so. There. Done. XD
> 
>  
> 
> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


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